


Five Black Pots

by badjokes



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Meet-Cute, god guys please be gentle with me, it's my first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badjokes/pseuds/badjokes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack just wanted to buy a nice gift for his mother. Something small and simple. But now he's got several hundred dollars worth of high-end bath products in his basket and is being assisted by the cutest salesperson this side of the Mason-Dixon line. </p>
<p>Jack's more than happy to learn about leave-in moisturizers and exfoliating facial scrubs if it means this guy will keep talking to him. Hell. He's even happy to keep loading up on bubble bars and bath bombs.</p>
<p>It's too bad he only has a shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Black Pots

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, kids. Thought I'd do a cleaner, nicer round-up of the stuff I posted on [tumblr](http://bad-jokes-420.tumblr.com/tagged/l-sh-au). That was getting more and more complicated, honestly!
> 
> Also! Please don't use the L word. Let's make it so that L-SH never finds out about this incriminating piece of garbage.
> 
> Salut, motherfuckers.

Bitty’s got a job as a salesperson in a trendy, high end cosmetics store at Providence Place. Jack comes in one day to buy a gift for his mother. They have a long conversation about the Falconers and other things. Jack spends $875.38.

Jack keeps coming in. Bitty’s selling this poor boy armloads of bath bombs and bubble bars and bath melts and oils. Jack just wants a chance to talk to him so he puts each product in his basket. Jack spends hundreds of dollars on luxury bath items. Jack’s condo has a very nice shower stall with multiple shower heads that have amazing water pressure.

Jack does not own a bathtub.

____________________ 

Poor guy’s fancy bathroom is absolutely full of black pots. He’s got drawers full of bath bombs. The edge of his shower is bordered by bottles and bottles of shower gels and creams. His freezer is full of face masks.

Shitty comes to visit him at his apartment and walks in the door and immediately starts yelling.

“What the fuck, bro! What is that smell?? It smells like a fuckin’ perfume shop in here… Do you have like a shit ton of flowers hidden somewhere? What the hell??”

____________________ 

Alicia turns to look at Bob after opening the package Jack had sent her in the mail.

“Another one? This is getting ridiculous.” 

He chuckles. “Something must be going on with him… This is one of their most expensive gift sets.”

He helps her excavate a [ massive octagonal box ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fuk.lush.com%2Fproducts%2Fover-ps30%2Flush-legends-0&t=YmE4MjhlNDNiN2VmMGE2OTc3NDNiZGIyYTIxMjRjY2ZmZjZkZjMwOCxVcTFISE9FTA%3D%3D) from its packaging. They set it on the counter and just look at it for a while. Eventually Alicia shrugs and turns to walk away.

“You’re not even going to open it?” Bob calls after her.

 “You know that’s not really my thing, sweetie. It’s all yours. Send me the link to your unboxing video when you post it.”

____________________

 “So, euh… Do you have, um. Makeup. Here?”

Bitty stops talking to Jack about the time his roommate accidentally ate one of his face masks and cocks his head. “Well, Mister Jack. I wasn’t aware you were a _makeup_ kind of guy.” He raises an eyebrow at Jack.

Jack’s… Not. A makeup kind of guy. In fact, he honestly just wanted to know why it was called a cosmetics shop when he’s yet to see any actual makeup but. Well. He’s in too deep now. The only thing to do is roll with it.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Totally. Makeup is cool.”

Jack goes home with some new bar soap and spends the next week frantically watching makeup tutorials on YouTube. He doesn’t really get them but he calls Lardo up to consult ( “as an _artist_ ”) and she walks him through some stuff.

The next time Jack shows up, he’s wearing some highlighter and modest eyeliner. You know. To show that he’s a “makeup kind of guy”.

Bitty’s got a full fucking contour, cat eye, false lash #Look.

____________________

Bitty’s coworkers are in awe. For the fourth month in a row, he proudly tapes up a receipt with his name written in careful cursive on the top. Now of course, he doesn’t make commission. But that doesn’t mean he can’t take pride in how he’s been the leading sales associate for almost half a year.

He’d showed Jack around the hair care section today. The boy’s got such cute hair, with its strange little flips and nineties boyband bangs. Sometimes it’s a little rough looking though. Jack had told him that he tends to get “euhhh… you know. Helmet hair.” And Bitty had wrangled out of him that he’s washing his hair with _Pantene_ of all things. Twice a day.

Lord.

So Bitty’d cut Jack a big piece of their solid avocado conditioner/shampoo bar for his travel kit. “This way you can wash your hair after practice or a game and not strip all the oils out of it. It will keep it softer which will cause less crazy helmet hair!” And then he’d cut another piece for Jack to keep in his locker at the Dunkin’ Donuts Center.  And, “Oh! Jack! We also have dry shampoo for the days you don’t work out!” And then, “Oh, hun. I’ve seen those promotional pictures of you in a suit with your hair slicked back. What do you use to do that? Oh, yeah? Sticky? Hmm.. Well, lemme see… Yup! Looks like I’ve got a nice, natural alternative pomade. Yeah! It does smell good, right? Kinda earthy…” And after that, “You’re washing your hair so often— No, darlin’. Most people wash their hair every two or three days! But, you’re washing it so often I’m worried about you really ruffling your cuticle— Oh! Okay, yes. So the cuticle is kinda like roof shingles…” So Bitty’d put some leave-in moisturizer in Jack’s basket and a few hot-oil treatments and some hair masks too. Just in case.

“Sometimes my scalp gets really itchy though. I think maybe because I have it in a helmet so much.” And of course Bitty had slipped a peppermint shampoo and a moisturizing scalp treatment in there as well.

As Bitty was ringing the sale up, he’d stopped. “Jack! I totally forgot. You should try one of our lightest conditioners as well. Here, let me grab you a sample of it.” And so Bitty had poured the sweet, strawberry milkshake scented conditioner into a little black sample pot, closed it up, stuck the label on it, and carefully printed his phone number on the top in tiny, cramped handwriting.

“Here, let me just put that sample in your bag, sweetheart. Excellent! Okay! So your total today is gonna be $254.55.”

____________________

Jack gets home from Providence Place with his huge, green bag full of product. And he sets it down on his kitchen counter. And then he gets changed and goes to the gym.

The next day, he moves the bag from the counter to the floor by the island. Then, in the middle of the night, as he’s trying to get a glass of water, he trips over it. The products spill all over. He sighs and stuffs them back in the bag, sets it back on the kitchen counter, and returns to bed.

The day after that, he’s got to prepare for a roadie. He begins packing his bag and remembers what Bitty said about ruffling his cuticle. And helmet hair. So he throws away the bottle of Pantene and slips the bar of shampoo/conditioner in instead. And then he sticks the little jar of leave-in moisturizer in there as well. Thinking about it for a bit, he realizes he might have to do press. So he stuffs the pomade jar in there too.

And then he leaves.

When he gets back, the bag is still there, sitting dejectedly on the counter. A little less full than it had been before. Jack sighs and dumps his travel kit on the couch, shucks off his jacket. The guys had been chirping him all weekend.

“You are smelling so good, Zimmboni.”

“Who snuck a girl on the plane? I can fuckin’ smell her!”

“Hey, pretty boy! Lemme borrow some of that slick shit later on, okay?”

“Does anyone smell flowers? Who brought a bouquet on the bus? Who on this damn team thinks they deserve a bouquet more than me, huh?”

But everyone was in agreement. It was nice to have the bus, the plane, and the locker room smell like something other than mildewed gear and sweaty pads. For once.

“Ah.” Jack mutters, noticing the bag. “Guess I forgot about that.”

So he empties it out and stares at the products for a few minutes. Tries to remember everything Bitty told him about them. They’d lost their game that weekend and he can still feel the grime of the loss and the stale airplane air on his skin. All he wants is to take a shower and clean it all away.

So he grabs the peppermint shampoo. He doesn’t have any conditioner but he remembers that Bitty had given him that sample. So he looks on the counter for it but it’s gone. He opens the empty bag again, just to make sure. But it’s not in there.

_"Câlisse._ ”

Logically, he thinks, he could just use the leave-in moisturizer and be done with it. It’s not like he’d been especially devoted to caring for his hair before. But he’s just so wound up, so frustrated and tired and all he wants is to take a really long, hot shower and coat himself in sweet smelling lotions and oils and think about the boy who’d so carefully explained each and every one of them to him.

So he’s down on his aching knees, patting around underneath cabinets and trash cans. Running his fingers over vents.

He finds it. A smooth little pot that slips into his fingers perfectly. He pulls it out and blows the dust off of it. And then he spots it.

_Numbers._

____________________

Three dates in, and Bitty’s finally got _access_.

They’d gone to North, and Bitty had about died. That restaurant has been on his check-list since he moved to Providence. The chef used to work for Momofuku, for god's sake! 

It had gone incredibly well. He and Jack had maintained heady eye-contact, kept up an interesting conversation. The food had been amazing. Bitty had even reached out and grasped Jack’s hand halfway through and, even though Jack had jolted (just a bit), he’d tightened his hand when Bitty’d tried to pull away. So, y’know. They’d held hands.

The only thing that had stopped it from being perfect was when a couple people had come over to their table. It was kind of strange, actually. They’d come from opposite sides of the restaurant, nervously approaching the couple.

The woman was short, chubby. Perfectly made up. Flawless eyeliner, sharp, beautifully curved brows. She smelled of vanilla and jasmine. The man was tall and gangly. Wearing a Sox shirt and loose jeans. He smelled like Irish Spring.

“Are you—” They spoke at the same time, glancing at each other nervously. “Sorry, go ahead—” “Oh, my bad. You first—”

Eventually they’d sorted themselves out. The woman had turned to Bitty and asked, shyly. “You work at the mall, right?” The man had taken a deep breath and kind of smiled at Jack. “You’re Jack Zimmermann, yeah?”

And so Bitty had listened to the woman talk about how he’d helped her find the confidence to care about her appearance. To love herself. And Jack had paid attention as the man explained how he’d been following Jack’s career for years. How it was amazing to see someone who struggled with addiction and mental illness do such fantastic things.

Bitty was not ashamed to say he’d cried a bit. Jack had shifted uncomfortably before standing up to grasp the man’s hand in a firm grip. Eventually the man and the woman returned to their respective tables, smiling and nodding at each other before they went.

“Well!” Bitty had breathed. “My goodness. That was… Something else!”

And Jack had smiled softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

And now here they were, perched on the front step of Jack’s condo. Bitty hadn’t hesitated, rolling up to his toes to plant one on Jack. And, of course, Jack was responding beautifully. All low moans and nervous, scrabbling hands.

Eventually Jack manages to get his key in the “ _ostie d’antivol”_ and they fall through the open door, stumbling into the condo. Leading Bitty by the hand, Jack tugs him through the space. He’s not going to offer coffee or tea. He’s not going to second-guess himself. He knows they’re on the same page and if this beautiful boy is willing to let himself be pulled on through to Jack’s bedroom, he’s not going to stop to think about why.

Later, wrapped around each other, sleepy and sated, Bitty rolls over to look at Jack.

“We should take a bath together, sweetheart. Get cleaned up. Relax.”

Bitty’s so fond of the way Jack flushes. Poor, shy boy. But he’s a little more confused by the way Jack begins to stutter and look panicked.

“Euhhhh… Well, you see… The thing is,” Jack coughs and looks around wildly. “ _Crisse_. Um, the thing. Is.”

____________________

And so here Bitty is. Standing in bare feet, an overly large shirt, and nothing else.

Staring at Jack Zimmermann’s beautiful, modern shower stall.


End file.
